Without Wondering

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People travel to wonder at the height of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars; and they pass by themselves without wondering.

—Saint Augustine

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The view from Castle Pherae looks out over the castle ground, onto the surrounding city, then the farmland of the surrounding villages, until the countryside ends and the great grey-blue expanse of the sea stretches beyond the sheer cliffs of the coastline. The sight is familiar to Eliwood, and though it no longer fills him with awe as it did when he was a boy, he is still appreciative of the beauty found in the gently rolling fields and the ocean stretching endlessly toward the horizon. To him, it is merely another constant, unchanging part of Pherae, and nothing more.

But Eliwood can see how his wife looks out onto the landscape each morning, and sometimes he wonders if it is the greens and blues of Pherae she sees, or another land entirely.

He asks her, one morning, what she thinks of the view. The question seems to surprise her, but she replies nonetheless. "It's lovely," she tells him.

"Would you like to go?" Eliwood says then, surprising even himself as the words fall from his lips. "To the beach?"

She smiles. "Yes, I would."

Eliwood smiles in return and leans down to press his lips to her hair. "Very well."

The following day, Eliwood makes the necessary arrangements for such a trip with Marcus. The trip itself is planned for the course of only a single day, but Eliwood silences Marcus' murmured apologies with a shake of his head when the senior knight is unable to plan a longer stay.

"One day of relaxation," Eliwood tells him, "is more than enough. Thank you."

Marcus bows, even though Eliwood knows how it pains his old bones to do so, and the sound of stiff joints cracking in protest reminds Eliwood of his aging mother.

It has been years, he thinks, since his mother last came to the beach, not since he was a boy and his father was still alive. He is therefore surprised when a page arrives with summons from the former marchioness, but he complies nonetheless, walking the familiar route to the dowager's chambers alone.

She is sitting at her window when she arrives, her basket of embroidery resting easily in her lap as she allows the bright sunlight to warm her. Lady Eleanora turns her face to Eliwood when she hears the door close behind him, and she allows a smile to crease her features at his arrival.

"Mother," he says, forcing himself to look at her face as he seats himself on the chair beside her. The years of his campaign, and the years since, have aged Eleanora far before her time, and as she watches him with her almost-sightless eyes, he feels in his belly that familiar pang of guilt for causing her the worry and stress that ate at her youth.

But she does not blame him; she never has. "My son," she says simply. "I wish to go with you."

He knew that this would be her request. "Mother—" Eliwood begins, but Eleanora smiles at him and rests one small, fragile hand on his knee.

"I know what you want to tell me," Eleanora tells him, "and I know the truth in what you would say. I am a blind old woman now, and for some time I have felt the heaviness of illness and age on my body." She closes her eyes. "I know that I will not see my grandson become a man, and I know that I will not live long enough to see Pherae's line continued. But I also know that I am I am not the frail, useless woman that everyone thinks me to be, and I know that this trip won't kill me. And I know you know this to be true."

Eliwood watches his mother lift the basket from her lap and set it gently on the floor, but he knows what she says is true. He sighs. "I will not stop you," he says simply. "It is your choice."

And so Eleanora accompanies Eliwood and his wife and child when they leave for the seashore early the following day, the women and Roy seated safely in the carriage and Eliwood riding ahead with a squire trailing behind. It is an easy ride, and it takes them most of the morning to reach the craggy cliff side of the coast. Beyond it the sea roils and crashes against the shoreline, as if beneath the waves some great leviathan thrashed and writhed and twisted beneath the waters.

His mother calls him, then, to help them unpack and eat the sumptuous picnic lunch, and with the image of a great, terrible beast fresh in his mind, he turns away from the cliff side and joins them.

The lunch consists of small sandwiches and baked pies, candied fruit and a few flagons of chilled wine and water. As they eat, they talk, about everything and nothing, and for the first time in a long while, Eliwood can feel at least some of the tension that has built up inside him melt away in the warmth of the sun.

After they eat, the squire cleans up and packs the picnic basket as Eliwood makes his way down the path from the cliff to the beach below. His wife follows, their son held gently in her arms, and Eleanora comes last on the arm of the squire. Eliwood is surprised at how easily the memory of the path has come to him, and as he waits for his mother and wife to settle themselves on the sand, he takes the opportunity to gaze out at the shore for a few moments.

It is if nothing has changed in the years that have passed since his last trip here; this particular stretch of shoreline nestled against the sheer white cliff face, hidden from the brunt of the sea's force, is just as he remembers; the sea is blue-green and clear where it meets the sand, and in the distance a flock of seabirds rise on an updraft, dark feathered bodies stark against the pale sky. Another time, perhaps, he would have dashed off through the surf in pursuit of them, but for now he merely watches them silently as the surf laps at his boots.

Without warning, there is a soft cry of alarm, followed by the sound of little feet splashing through the surf, and Eliwood looks down to find Roy clinging to his leg, staring out at the sea with familiar bright blue eyes wide with wonder. Eliwood smiles and bends down, lifting Roy's body easily and cradling him in his arms.

"It's the sea, Roy" he says simply, taking a step further into the surf. Eliwood ignores the water as it seeps into his boots and soaks his breeches.

Together, they look out onto the unchanging tide.

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For Kyusil. Notes can be found on Livejournal at acrookedhouse.

Brief notes: I like plotlessness, clearly. I enjoy minimal dialog. Eleanora's an awesome old lady. Eliwood's wife's identity is purposefully left ambiguous. Roy was the best part to write in this. It is 5 AM and I have no idea why I'm even awake.

Thanks to Raphiael for betaing!

As always, feedback and critique is appreciated. Thank you for reading!